The Distance Between Us
by ariadne melody
Summary: For every day he's gone, Stefan writes Elena a letter. Takes place during latter part of season 3.


**AN**: This is set in the latter part of season 3.

* * *

Ever since Klaus released him, Stefan's been writing to her, filling a leather journal with letters he'll never have the courage to send. It took him a week before he was ready to write in his journal again, to actually force himself to write about what he's done in all its excruciating detail, but even as he was stealing the coffins he was composing a letter; immediately after he hung up the phone, hearing Klaus's anger he sat down to write to her. When he's not taunting of avoiding Klaus, dreaming up ways to kill the Originals, avoiding Elena, he writes.

It had started while he was still gone, really, still following Klaus around, just a killing machine: for every day he was gone he wrote her a letter. Sometimes he'd actually snatch some time away and scribble on a bar napkin or six, sometimes he could only write her a letter in his mind. Even if he could have, Stefan wouldn't have actually sent them to Elena; for one thing, he had to keep her safe from Klaus, and couldn't tip Klaus off to the fact that she was alive. And since he thought he could never go back to her, he thought it should be a clean break, as clean as possible under the circumstances, but he can't help himself from writing the letters she'll never read.

They're not great literary achievements by any stretch of the imagination. They're nothing special really. Just whatever comes to his mind. Memories, thoughts, stories, wishes, desires; once an entire letter consisted of "I love you" written a hundred times in different languages. One letter only stated, "Elena, I'm sorry." Even as he's fighting to avoid her, forcibly pushing her away, he spilled his heart to her on the page.

* * *

It's been in her jewelry box for nearly two weeks now, in the small compartment where she normally keeps rings. They're scattered now, the rings, some in the drawer with her earrings, some mixed in with other, less frightening necklaces, and she's glad of it, the jewelry box, both for the memory of receiving it (on her fourteenth birthday, wrapped in green and purple-striped paper that she still couldn't believe her mother had actually bought) and the convenience of the ring compartment. It's a small space underneath the other sections, almost hidden really and difficult to open sometimes, so Elena doesn't have to look at the necklace, that necklace. The one that's not just a piece of jewelry but a touchstone, a symbol of love that now only makes her heart ache at the memory of the boy who placed it so gently around her neck.

Yet every night Elena tentatively takes it out, sometimes holds it in her hand. Did it mean anything to her now? Should she return it to Stefan? Rebekah was-is- probably the rightful owner, but it didn't feel right to give it to her, although that could be her general wariness of Rebekah and her determination to stay away from the Originals altogether.

She didn't wear it, didn't even try it on. She couldn't. Maybe someday she'd be able to to view the necklace as just a necklace, a trinket from the past. Secretly, though, Elena doubted that, doubted she'd ever be able to look at the necklace without a pang of love or sorrow.

* * *

Caroline frownes, holding up a baggy plaid dress. "What decade does this scream to you?"

"Um, how about never?" Bonnie grimaces as she took the dress. "This is not the one you're looking for."

"Definitely not," Caroline tosses the dress aside and continues to root through the plastic bin. "I don't get it, did Jenna develop her fashion sense late in life or- I am so sorry, Elena, that came out wrong."

"It's fine," Elena shrugs. She's sitting at the edge of the room, surrounded by bins of old toys, legos and stuffed animals and dolls, remnants of childhood that seemed long ago and so very far away. "I think those are from my grandmother's house anyways- Mom stored a bunch of her things up here."

"It might be from the right decade, but no one, and I mean no one, should ever wear this," Caroline mutters as she placed it back in the box.

They're looking for Jenna's high school things, looking for clothes they could wear to the upcoming Decades Dance; Jenna had been a very enthusiastic participant in a number of them, even sneaking into some of them while she was still in middle school, and had saved pieces of clothing from almost every one.

So far they hadn't even found one box of Jenna's things and Elena's not about to go through the most recent additions to the attic, the new boxes with some of Jenna's things, her clothes and papers, the worn-out canvas bags she piled her books in for school. Elena vaguely remembered packing them, could recall talking to Jeremy about which books to keep downstairs.

Suddenly, Bonnie and Caroline were sitting besides her, hugging her and it's exactly what she needed and she let out a tiny sob.

"I'm so sorry," Caroline whispers. "This was such a stupid idea."

"No, no, I'm- I should be fine with this, I should be used to it..." Elena tries to say, her voice breaking and then they're all crying, all three of them breaking from the losses they've had, both recent and distant.

"Maybe it's a sign," Bonnie says later. "Let's not go to the dance. Let's...I don't know, have a slumber party and gorge on ice cream."

That's what they do that night, the three of them crowding in Elena's room watching movies, silly movies that none of them really remember afterwards. They tried to be normal for a change, tried to forget that chaos had become the new normal.

* * *

Stefan writes furiously, the pen a frantic blur against the pages. Scattered phrases flash across the page, "You brought me back to life, Elena, and what have I given you in return? I like to think I brought you some happiness, but compared to everything else... despair and pain, the deepest pain that no person should ever have... I love you, I love you. I don't deserve you and I'm in love with you and I can only hurt you by loving you."

At Damon's knock (after he'd already entered the room), Stefan hastily closes the notebook, feeling raw and open, his feelings blatantly apparent to anyone and everyone.

"Let me guess," Damon rolls his eyes at the notebook. "Dear Diary, today I only ate one squirrel because I stole the rest of Damon's A-negative because I knew he was looking forward to it. Signed Stefan the animal lover."

"Didn't know you were partial to A-negative," Stefan shrugs, but his eyes dar nervously around the room. He's tired, exhausted from fighting the blood, from pushing Elena away, fighting himself an his conflicting urges (sink his teeth into as many blood-bags as possible, find Elena and push her against a wall and kiss her long and hard and rough). If he could he'd leave Mystic Falls, but he knew that wouldn't help, that Elena and his demons would follow.

"Come on, get dressed," Damon tosses a wrinkled t-shirt at him. "Although maybe the council would like you more if you went shirtless."

"Go where?" Stefan asks, tracing his ring and trying not to tap it against the table.

"Another fundraising thing for Wickery Bridge," Damon picks up one of Stefan's journals and lazily flicks through it. "You'd think everyone would get sick of events. Next thing you know they'll be throwing a gala for every day that ends in y."

Stefan takes the journal from Damon. "I'm not in the mood."

"Screw your moods, you only have one lately- eternally gloomy. Besides, brother, you don't have a choice in this matter. The council still thinks you're public enemy number one and it's time we start proving to them how wrong they are."

* * *

He found her the exact moment they stepped inside the Lockwood mansion. Elena's standing in a corner of the room, talking to some older woman he doesn't know, looking tired and pale, with a smile that's not a real smile on her face. It hurt to see her like that, to not be able to do anything for her, to not hold her and stroke her back, kiss her and whisper to her until a real smile appeared.

Elena suddenly looks at him and Stefan can't look away, couldn't hide what he's feeling and something changes in her face, grief and love appearing in her eyes. He can't stay there, not when he's so exposed, not when at any minuted he would break and tell her he loves her.

Like a coward, Stefan turns away, hoping Damon would go to her, hoping she wouldn't follow.

He stands shaking on the porch for two minutes before he realizes he's not alone, that Bonnie's standing there as well, looking like she just wants to escape or be alone.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, but she stops him from leaving.

"Abbie... my mom, she left," she say. There's a slight edge to her soft voice. "She had a rough transition."

Stefan's throat tightens and he can't think of anything to say except, "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I- I didn't want any of this to happen."

"I know," she says and it became worse then, worse with her quite voice and sorrowful eyes filled with accusations. "Stefan.. do you.. is Elena..."

She trails off, seeing something-someone-approach and Stefan's heart drops because he knows who it is.

Bonnie and Elena exchange some quiet words before Bonnie goes inside, leaving Elena and Stefan alone, listening to the sounds of laughing, chattering guests. Neither speak for a minute, Stefan still can't look at her really.

"How- how are you?" Elena asks and it's awkward, horribly awkward. "The, um, blood..."

"I'm trying to manage," Stefan says quietly. He picks at a spot on the railing, letting the paint crumble beneath his fingers. "It's difficult," he admits. "I drink the animal blood and feel guilty, overwhelmingly so because it's horrific. And I drink the human blood... from blood-bags," he adds quickly. "And I feel guilty because I just want more."

Elena shivers a bit. "But you're controlling it," she says softly.

"I think so," Stefan murmurs. "Most of the time."

"Is there- can I help?" Elena fidgets, twisting a ring around her finger.

"Are you offering your blood?" It's a jarring question, deliberately so because they're too close, her voice is too soft, and he just wants to lean into her. He knows the question will hurt her and even as he hates himself for it, he hopes that it will be enough to push her away.

"I'm offering to help you," Elena states, but her voice is no longer the soft tone. "Why do you do that, Stefan? Why do you try to push me away?"

"I'm not," he mutters sullenly, like a small child caught in a lie.

"You are," she presses. "You do it all the time, saying things you think will make me angry, pretending not to care about Alaric being sick. You use that flat tone like it's easy for you, not caring."

"Maybe it is," he turns to her and his voice is flat and raw. "Maybe it's the easiest thing in the world not to care."

"Then why did you save Meredith Fell?" Elena demands. "You could have just let her die, you could have killed Alaric. Instead you helped save them."

"That's not the same as caring," Stefan's grip tightens on the porch railing., his legs almost shaking. It caused a physical ache, putting on this front, shoving Elena away; he's practically forcing her into Damon's open and willing arms, but maybe that's okay, because his brother isn't as emotionally crippled, his brother isn't afraid of loving Elena and hurting her. He doesn't think he could ever sleep next to Elena again after what he's done, not just to her but to others, his victims, and now Elena has become one of his victims. Maybe she always had been, even at the start.

"Sometimes I think you want me to hate you," Elena whispers.

"I can't imagine why you don't hate me already," Stefan whispers back. At the same time there's a loud burst of applause and he thinks she didn't hear him. It's just as well, really.

Elena stares at him, trying to reach him but it's nearly impossible now. Sometimes it was was easy for her to tell herself that the Stefan she knew and loved (loves?) was gone forever, usually after he made some comment that made her heart freeze. It's true that Stefan probably can't go back, at least not now or maybe not ever, but then she can't go back to who she was before either.

Sometimes when she looks at him, the love she feels for him makes her dizzy. Sometimes when she looks at him he lets his guard down and she knows he's hiding from her, lost in what he's done.

"I could never hate you," Elena tells him and, hoping he would turn around and saying something, anything.

She's not surprised when he doesn't, but it still hurt and she couldn't even pretend to smile after that.

* * *

Home on a Friday evening while every other high-school aged kid was at the first Decades Dance of the school year, as if Stefan didn't feel enough like an outcast already (even if he was slightly older than regular high school kids). Even Damon was at the dance continuing his tradition of being the slightly creepy adult who danced way too enthusiastically at Mystic Falls high school dances. He had claimed he was filling in for Alaric as the watchful guardian of the dance, but Stefan knew Damon had only decided to go after Caroline visited that afternoon to raid the attic, borrowing outfits for Elena, Bonnie, and herself.

He kept picturing Elena dancing with Damon, laughing through the dance steps, her hair flying out around her her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering with happiness. She loved to dance, was forever begging him to dance with her, putting and teasing until she got her way (it didn't take long). As much as Stefan had complained about it, he really had loved dancing with Elena. He loved doing anything with Elena.

You let her go, he reminded himself. It's better this way, she's better off. Damon loves her, he'll protect her and care for her, he'd far more capable of doing that than you.

Still, Stefan kept picturing Elena and Damon dancing and he sent his glass of scotch hurtling into the fire.

* * *

Elena left the dance early, but she didn't go home. The house was lonely now, Alaric still shuffled around like a ghost, forever telling her how sorry he was. Other time she avoided her and that hurt, because she'd gotten so used to his presence, his warmth and bad jokes. She's pretty sure he's thinking about moving out, going back to his dusty apartment and then she'll be completely alone in a house of ghosts.

She tells herself she's just going to return the dress, that she's not even going to look for Stefan. She knows she's only lying to herself.

The house feels quiet and odd, though it's felt that way for ages. For a while it had been her second home, one she and Stefan (and Damon) shared, their houses melding together to become a home, their home. Then he left and part of her left with him, felt unrooted and lost, anchored only by her friends and family.

She sat down in a chair in the living room to switch shoes and it felt nice to sit in front of the dying fire, to take off the shoes that had been killing her feet for hours. Caroline hadn't exactly gone for comfort in picking their outfits but it had ben fun, a little bit of fun anyways, a break from crisis time. Honestly, she'd more than half expected something bad to happen, something terrifying or tragic because that's what school dances had become, a recipe for disaster.

As Elena stands and stretches she sees a leather-bound journal, one that looks exactly like the ones Stefan normally used. Maybe he was writing again. Maybe it was one of his older ones and they were just using it for research. She hopes it's the former.

She tells herself that she's only going to check the date of the first entry, but then her eyes fell upon the actual words and her heart stops.

It wasn't an entry.

It was a letter for her, dated the day Stefan had left and every other page was like it, a letter addressed to her, for all the days they'd been apart up to the present.

She knows it's wrong.

She can't help it. She reads every one.

* * *

Stefan gets out of the shower, not thinking of anything in particular- well, trying to avoid thinking about certain people by thinking about football. He misses watching it, he misses playing it. There were some (many) parts of his old life, bits of normality that he missed.

Elena stands in his room and Stefan stops. She looks beautiful, she always did, it always made him stop still. There's a stricken look on her face and he panics, quickly asking what was wrong, thinking that yet another dance had ended up being a disaster.

"I didn't mean to read it, not at first," Elena holds out the notebook and Stefan slowly draws his breath, realizing what it is. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Stefan can't move, can't think at all. Run away, hide from her, don't pull her back into this. Hold her close and never let her go.

"Do you love me?" she whispers. She's bitten all her nails down to the quick and doesn't even remember doing so. "Stefan?"

"I love you," Stefan whispers and clears his throat. "I love you."

It's actually a relief to say it out loud; instantly he feels lighter, clearer, cleaner. It's like the night he confessed to Damon that he loved Elena.

Elena made a sound in her throat and Stefan backs away. "But I can't be with you, Elena, I-,"

"Because of the guilt, because of the pain. Because you're afraid of what it-what will happen to me," Elena says and she sounds tired, sad. As if she's aged a hundred years. "I'm not afraid, Stefan. I'm tougher, stronger than you think."

"I know you are," Stefan tells her. "You're the strongest person I know."

"Then why-,"

"Because I can't be who you want me to be." He's weakening, he knows it, already he feels all the carefully calibrated control slip away.

"How do you know what I want?" Elena demands.

He closes his eyes; maybe if he can't see her he could do this, push her away, but it doesn't help because he can feel her, knew the expression on her face. "You should want Damon. Or Matt. Someone else, anyone else."

"Stefan, look at me," Elena says quietly and he does. "I want you. I love you. You, Stefan, I love you."

She walks towards him slowly and gently cups his face, searching his eyes even as she leans in and kisses him softly. And then he kisses her back and they're both crying, laughing, his tears slipping onto her face and hers falling on his tank top. They're holding each other and kissing, saying "I love you" over and over, promising to take it slow even as they sink to the floor, wrapped around each other. Their bodies seem to remember how to tangle and knot together, until it's nearly impossible to tell where Elena stops and Stefan begins.

Two days later, Elena hand the necklace to Stefan and asks him to help her put it on again.


End file.
